


Coasting on Potential

by missred



Series: Saturday [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: College AU, Exhaustion, Gen, Graduation, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Sickfic, Sleep Deprivation, college is a bitch, gratuitous coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14675297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missred/pseuds/missred
Summary: Pete is two weeks shy of graduation and about a month short on sleep.





	Coasting on Potential

_ 'Come on motherfucker, you survived, you gotta give yourself a break.' _

* * *

 

Two weeks. He was two weeks from a piece of paper that supposedly validated the past four years of his life. Pete wasn’t certain anymore. Because  _ two weeks _ . He had been pushing through assignments and soccer practice and band stuff and the weird anxiety that stopped him from sleeping when he had too much stuff going on to feel safe turning his brain off. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone because goddamnit he _ could do this _ but he was so, so tired. He stared at the still blank screen with the stupid blinking line. His draft for his RI class had gotten basically put through the garbage disposal and he had to start over. 10 pages, 5 sources--it shouldn’t be hard. He’d done this a hundred times over. It shouldn’t be this hard. He scrubbed his hands over his face and momentarily ditched his laptop in favor of the lukewarm pot of coffee taking up half his counter space. He dumped some sugar in, barely bothering to stir it, and chugged.

\--

He was supposed to meet up with Joe and Patrick after class, but he still had the RI paper to finish--it was shit as is--and another paper for his public policy class, plus a final for his senior capstone in two days. He didn’t have enough time. But they needed to practice if they were going to record any time, ever, and Joe and Patrick got out for the summer last week. Andy was walking on Saturday, so he was basically done. They were waiting on him. Pete sighed. The paper was going to have to wait.

\--

Practice was good, even without Andy. It was kind of weird at first, hanging out with two high schoolers, but Joe was so chill you kind of forgot his age after a while, and Patrick made you forget, for almost the opposite reason. He could argue better than half the kids in Pete’s rhetoric class. And the music was good. Not  _ good _ , per say, it sounded like shit half the time, but there was something there. Something Pete hadn’t had in the other bands he’d been in. What started out as a weekend thing to blow off steam was becoming--he didn’t know. Important.  He felt sweaty and loose and alive, hopping the train back from the suburbs and watching the city bleed by. The feeling faded as he got off at his stop and headed home. It was past midnight now, and what had started as a sort of pleasant soreness was morphing into a heavy-limbed tired feeling that he really couldn’t afford. Pete swung his arms and he whooped into the dark night, trying to wake up. By the time he got to his apartment he was just on the edge, not exhausted but not awake either, hovering on the shimmering edge of being able to work through the night or falling asleep with his shoes on on the couch. Changing would just make it easier to pass out, so he opted to leave his stuff on, shoes and all, and plopped down on the floor. It was easier to work like this, back against the edge of his bed, all the lights on. He got through half of his public policy paper before it started to get light, birds chirping in the 5 a.m gloom.  Well, fuck.

\--

Pete finished his RI paper on a Thursday morning, ran it over to the English department, and barely paused before heading back to edit his public policy paper. He grabbed a large iced coffee on his way back, letting the girl who served him keep the change because, seriously, god bless anyone who was willing to work in a dunkin under the L. His eyes burned with something that he couldn’t blink away, his legs were ached even though he’d skipped his last soccer practice, and he still had two more papers to turn in, but he was almost done. Two days. 

\--

Friday at 5 P.M Pete was running. His senior capstone paper was due right now and he was two blocks away from the poli sci department building. Normally he could do this distance and barely be winded, but he was gasping by the time he got the mailboxes. His professor already had one had on the papers. She tried to joke with him about timing, but he could barely manage a smile. He handed her his final with shaking hands and shuffled back towards his apartment. 

At 5:30 he was hopping a train to the suburbs to see Patrick and Joe, and when he showed up at 7 they had already set up all the gear in Joe’s garage. Joe’s mom gave him a look he couldn’t pin down, but she let him in, and he shrugged it off. He probably stank, he thought, detachedly. He couldn’t remember what day he’d showered on last.  He should probably call his mom.

But by the time they were ready to call it quits on practice, Pete didn’t have the brain power to call anyone. He almost missed his stop on the way home. He wasn’t sleeping, exactly, but he hadn’t heard them call out for Olgevie. It took him twenty minutes to realized the train had stopped and by then the station was starting to shut down for the night. He stumbled on the train and made his was to an L stop, not awake enough to be properly embarrassed. 

When he finally made it home, his alarm clock said it was 1:37 a.m. Okay. Fine. He had 6 hours, give or take. He didn’t even bother turning the lights on before tripping towards his bed. 

\--

At 8:20 the next morning, Pete was sweating. The polyester of his cap and gown were not forgiving and the fact that he was sardined in with a thousand over people similarly stewing in their own juices did not help. He swayed on his feet and forced himself to unlock his knees, fighting a wave of dizziness. 3 hours. And then he was done. He barely heard them call his name but he made sure to hustle his way to the stage. His handshake was sweaty and weak but he could hear whooping from his left side and he knew they were there. His parents and aunts and uncles--he couldn’t remember which-- and Andy and Joe and Patrick. He walked ramrod straight back to his seat and floated through the rest of ceremony, cheering when he heard his friends’ names. 

When they dismissed everyone it was like the end of a superbowl. The crowd swarmed the field and before he could even see them coming his mom and dad were hugging him and his mom was crying and smiling and he smiled back, feeling a little bit like he was underwater. Or dreaming. It was good though.

\--

His mom had invited half the neighborhood it felt like, for cake and ice cream, and he smiled and shook hands and laughed with all of them. Yes, he was glad to be done, and no, he didn’t know what he was going to do next, and wasn’t that funny instead of outright terrifying, ha ha ha. After the party started to clear out Andy sidled over with a wicked look in his eye, and asked something totally unexpected. 

“You good?”

Pete leaned back, surprised. 

“Yeah, man. So good.”

“Yeah? Cause you look like you got hit by a pile of shitbricks.”

“Hurley,” Pete clutched his chest mock offended, “that’s cold.”

Andy pivoted, turning towards the kitchen and calling out “Mrs. Wentz, would you mind if I borrowed Pete for the evening?”

She did not, much to Pete’s astonishment. 

Andy grabbed his hand and led him out the door.

“Joe, Patrick, you coming?” He shouted, opening up the driver’s side door, and the pair came scrambling out of the house. 

“Are we drinking?” Joe asked eagerly. 

“ _ You _ are definitely not.” Andy glared, “and I’d recommend you don’t start either.” He nodded towards Pete. 

“Nope.” Pete mumbled, head leaned against the cool glass off the window. “Not in the mood.”

Andy was headed down lake shore drive, and he felt like he could sleep forever in this car. 

“Where’r we going, Andy?”

“Home.” Andy replied, never taking his eyes off the road. 

And that was enough info for Pete. He drifted. 

Patrick tapped his shoulder hesitantly as Andy parked. 

“We’re here.”

Pete wasn’t sure why any of them were here at all, but whatever. He realized with a sort of passive horror that his apartment might be a mess. Eh. They’ll live. 

“What’s the plan, Andyman?”

Andy rolled his eyes and hauled Pete out of the passenger seat. 

“C’mon motherfucker. You survived, you’ve got to give yourself a break.”

“That’s your big plan?” Pete couldn’t help but feel kind of relieved. 

“No, my big plan is chinese food, then possibly dumping your nasty ass in the shower, then me and the kids are going to play mario kart on your gamecube while you sleep off whatever the fuck is making you look like that.”

“We are not kids.” Patrick muttered mutinously.

“Harsh.” Pete mumbled. “The chinese place is closed now, thou--” He got to his front door and almost tripped over a gigantic bag of takeout.    
“I called ahead while you were zonked in the car.”

“Huh.” Pete unlocked his door and plopped onto the couch, digging around for an eggroll. He bit into it and his stomach growled.    
“I don’t actually remember when I had non-cake food.”

“First, of all” Andy said, waving a chopstick at him, “don’t teach your bad habits to these impressionable young children”--“Eat a dick!” Joe retorted through a mouthful of lo mein. “Secondly,” Andy continued, unphased, “that’s why you look like a pile of shitbricks my man.”

“True.” Patrick, agreed, nodding.

“You’re all motherfucking assholes, Pete yawned. “I worked  _ hard.  _ These bag under my eyes are designer,”

“That was the lamest thing, you’ve ever said, and there’s been a lot.” Joe cackled. 

“Mhmm.” Pete gestured vaguely, barely setting down his takeout container before he couldn’t keep his eyes open and slumped over on the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also two weeks shy of graduation and finally starting to understand why Pete dropped out despite being so close. College is hard guys. That said, I need to graduate so I need him to graduate, so this is basically just self-motivation fic. Part two with more explicit sickfic-y stuff after I actually finish the four papers I need to write in order to graduate.


End file.
